


L'art pour l'art

by angelaofthelord



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelaofthelord/pseuds/angelaofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Les Amis are Grantaire's family, the only one he's ever really known. He knows he is screwed up, and for some reason his friends still love him. The only person who doesn't is the one person who truly matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted on AO3, so yes, I am kind of nervous. Also the first Les Mis fic I've wrote, this is only the prologue anyway, and the rest should be up asap.

Family, Grantaire decides, is subjective.

All through his life, the people related to him by blood have done nothing for him to deserve the title ‘family’, from when he was young and his parents were so emotionally absent he could have sworn someone had just left him on the doorstep and they forgot to move him, to when he was grown up and his parents were looking down on him and criticising his choice of degree. In fact, he thought he never would find anything remotely like family in his alcohol washed life. He had been relatively content to drift through life in his perpetually tipsy state enjoying his life and his art, without family or even close friends. That is, until he met the Les Amis. 

He met Courfeyrac first, in his first year at uni, when they shared a dorm. They had hit it off straight away and the rest, as they say, is history. Once Courfeyrac had deemed him worthy he had dragged the unwillingly artist along with him to the Musain to meet the rest of the group and that day he was lost. The group welcomed him with welcome arms after he had bought the first round of drinks and then spent approximately two and a half minutes looking at the group of students before asking Marius how long it would be until he ‘Stopped acted like a pussy and asked Cosette out.’ 

This was greeted by a round of laughter and applause by most, a nervous giggle from Cosette and an outraged (albeit stuttered) denial from Marius. It quickly and effectively sealed his place in the group.

As quickly as he was accepted, Grantaire fell in love with them all. Two years later and they were more a part of his life than he would ever have thought any group of people could be. Although they may not know it, they were his family and he cared for them all deeply, even if he did not show it all of the time. Jehan, whose words carried an effortless beauty. Joly and his incessant need to take care of everyone – despite whatever germs he may or may not pick up, and where Joly went Bossuet and Musichetta were sure to follow. Grantaire was a cynic, he didn’t used to believe in true love, but those three in their effortless relationship was the closest he’d ever seen to true love in real life. Combeferre, who had a passion and a need to care that, was rarely rivalled except from the fearless leader himself. Cosette was perhaps the sweetest girl he had ever met, and it was no surprise that Marius had fallen head over heels for her (and if he knew Marius then he had probably literally and figuratively fallen for her). The two of them were sickeningly adorable and as much as he was begrudged to admit, perfect for each other. Bahorel and Feuilly were the life and soul of the party and were often the only ones to laugh at his half arsed drunken humour (mainly because they were pissed as well but that was beside the point). Eponine, well she would have been his soul mate if he were straight. She was absolutely gorgeous, you didn’t have to be straight to see that, but she was also strong. It was the kind of strength and street smarts that only a broken kid would have and Grantaire could appreciate that. He was fucked up in more ways than one, and he couldn’t deny it, but Eponine didn’t let her cracks show as clearly as he did and he admired her greatly for that. So instead of soul mate, he just settled for best friend. 

They were his family now and as much as Grantaire was didn’t want to believe it, they loved him as much as he loved them for some bizarre reason he couldn’t fathom.  
There was one person in the group who wasn’t family to him, who was more. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone - even though he was pretty sure everyone already knew, Grantaire wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety. That one person was Enjolras; their fearless leader, his Apollo, possibly the only person to make Grantaire ever believe in anything and the person who despised him most.


	2. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an exasperated Eponine and Courfeyrac try to coax the truth out of a love sick Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off sorry for any typos or anything like that - I don't have a beta. And my other apology is for any OOC-ness. Um. I hope you enjoy.

Despite what Courfeyrac seemed to think, Grantaire was functioning perfectly well by himself. He was twenty years old and in university so of course he had a healthy sex life, there were never any shortage of lean, blond men at the bar willing to go home with him for the night. It was always just a night, never any longer. He didn’t know whether it was because he didn’t want a relationship or that the other guys didn’t think he was worth it. Either way, he was perfectly happy as he was. As long as he had a stocked alcohol collection, enough art supplies and his friends, he was content. 

Eponine would argue that he had never been happy enough or in an actual functioning relationship, so he couldn’t actually say that he was fine how he was when he didn’t have anything to compare it to. She was probably right, as much as he hating admitting that (not that he ever would say it to her face) but the thing was he didn’t want a relationship. 

“Yes you do!” Eponine insisted, throwing a well-aimed pillow at his head for extra incentive. He’d almost forgotten that they were actually having this conversation out loud; it wasn’t just one of those self-doubt moments where his mind went off on a tangent. 

“No I really don’t.” he replied drying, before downing the rest of his beer and jumping up off the sofa to get another one, all of this was in one graceful movement, the kind of movement only years of practice could achieve. Grantaire could hear both Eponine’s scoff and Courf’s mutters all the way from the kitchen, although he didn’t really believe they were trying that hard to hide it. 

“Look, I know what you are both thinking and you can just forget it. Just because you’ve got a poetry spouting puppy making eyes at you,” he said, gesturing to Courfeyrac with his beer bottle. “And you’ve got your increasingly desperate and fruitless infatuation with Monsieur Pontmercy, does not make either of you the new cupid.” 

He finished his miniature rant off with a small burp before flopping unceremoniously back on to the sofa. Grantaire didn’t need to look up to see both of them rolling their eyes at him; he knew he wasn’t fooling either of them if he couldn’t even fool himself. Instead of admitting what he knew they were both waiting to hear, he settled into silence until he heard Eponine’s soft sigh.

“We know you like him R, hell we know you love him.” she said soothingly, like she was talking to a child. Unstable he might be, but he was going to be treated like a sick child just because of a stupid crush. But despite himself, Grantaire tensed. It was the first time anyone had mentioned it out loud and for one very tense moment Grantaire could allow himself the luxury of pretending she hadn’t said anything.

“You little shit, don’t ignore the woman.” This time is was Courfeyrac who piped up, and was considerably less kind with him projectiles as he decided to throw an empty beer can at his face. Which unfortunately for him was also well aimed. 

“Ow.” He whined. Christ, there was a reason that Eponine treated him like a child wasn’t there?

“Stop being such a wuss.” Eponine spat, although not unkindly. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure, however, if she was referring to the beer can or the situation they were actually talking about beforehand.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He said plainly, if they were going to insist on treating him like a child, then he was going to act like one.

“Bullshit and you know it. I am so tired of tip toeing around the issue R. I am your best friend and if we can’t at least talk about the guy you have been head over heels about for over a year then I am going to be severely pissed. The kind of pissed that no amount of peace offering chocolates are going to fix.” After her speech Eponine had apparently decided she was done with the whole thing and she leaned back into her arm chair with a huff. Courfeyrac looked suitably impressed.

“You’re right.” He mumbled. There was no use trying to ignore it like he usually did, when Eponine set her mind to something then it sure as hell was getting done.

“What was that?” she said sweetly, all the edge was gone from voice was gone, and instead being replaced with innocence he had never seen on her and hoped never to again. It was terrifying.

“You’re right!” he replied, waving his hands in mock enthusiasm. He never thought it would happen but Eponine actually squealed, but not before jumping up out of her seat and over to where he was lounging and practically sitting on his lap. As she tried her best to squeeze the life out of him, Grantaire glared at Courfeyrac who was trying to suppress his own laughter.

“I don’t see what you are so happy about.” He grumbled at both of them.

“What do you mean?” She asked, genuinely confused. “You admitted you like him. Now we can move on to the next step in ‘Operation Hook Grantaire and Enjolras Up Because They Are Both Moody Bastards’.”

“There’s not going to be any operation or anything between us at all. You know that Ep. He hates me.” The last sentence was spat out in a venom that he didn’t even know he possessed. It was true though, there was nothing he was surer about, and even though it pained him every day he had to try and accept it for the way it is. 

“Oh Taire,” she said soothingly, attempting to pet his unruly mess of curls, in a gesture he assumed was supposed to be motherly or caring or some shit like that. “You know that’s not true.”

“It is though.” He sighed, resigned in the fact that the one person that he had ever felt something akin to love for, hated him with a fiery passion that almost outranked his passion for social change.

The first time he had seen Enjolras was a few weeks after Courf had introduced him to the rest of the Les Amis, and although he had heard many tales of the walking legend, he had no idea how lacking those stories were compared to the real thing.

When Grantaire turns to see who it was walking in the café he was immediately struck with a need to capture this God’s image on paper. There was something about the way his soft curls framed his face like a halo of molten gold, and the classic cut of his was just achingly perfect. This man was Apollo himself, he was a sun god, and he was – making his way right over to their table.

The sheer intensity of his physical attractiveness did not die down, but Grantaire became accustomed to it, the way your eye adjusts the harsh sunlight. At first it was painful to look directly at the light but after a while he could focus on the little things about his appearance that made him just that little bit more perfect. None of this, however, affected Grantaire the way Enjolras’ words did. When he first heard his Apollo speak with that passion and fervour Grantaire found himself making those first stumbled steps past lust and into the realms of love. However he found it hard to suppress the cynic inside of him and every time Enjolras spoke with his silver tongue and charmed just about everyone with his fascinating words, Grantaire found himself jumping in with questions or sarcastic remarks. 

A lot of the time his friends would take it in jest and laugh along with him, because how often was it they got to see their fearless leader stumble over his words? But Enjolras glared at him every time, and he could practically hear the frown from his perch by the bar. Grantaire was intelligent, he just hid it well, and so he could more than stand up for himself and hold himself eloquently in an argument; but Enjolras had a gift with words so he had no trouble creating cruel remarks with just a few flatly uttered words. That was the worst thing, the lack of emotion. Enjolras hated him at times, but most of the time he was just indifferent, Grantaire wasn’t important or good enough to have his favour.   
Grantaire knew he wasn’t a very good person, a waste of space in most respects; he had no delusions of grandeur. He often sought comfort in his drink, and he barely remembers the last time he was sober for two days straight. Enjolras hated his drinking more than anything, in those times when things got too much to handle and he went beyond his limits the only thing he would remember when he woke up the next morning would be the cold, disapproving glare on his Apollo.

So Grantaire did what he could to engage Enjolras, he debated (well, argued) with him whenever he could and just generally went along with whatever plans the Les Amis had set up. Any one would think he was stupid for hanging on to someone who appeared to be such an asshole, but Enjolras was genuinely a good person, just not to Grantaire, he cared for his friends more than anything – even his causes, and would never see them come any harm, it was one of the things Grantaire admired most about him. There was also his unrivalled passion, Grantaire almost prided himself in the fact he believed in nothing, but if there was one thing he could allow himself to believe in it was Enjolras.

So yeah, he was pretty damn sure Enjolras hated him.

“We’ll find a way R.” Eponine insisted. “I am damn sure he likes you a hell of a lot more than you lead yourself to believe.”

Believe, there was that word again. He wanted to laugh, what was there left to believe in. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he believed in him, that he wasn’t a waste of space. But Grantaire knew better than anyone that Enjolras didn’t want to hear him say anything, let alone that he loved him.


	3. I Am Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sobriety, Grantaire decides, is not all it is cracked up to be.   
> In which Enjolras oblivious makes things harder for everyone, and the Les Amis suck at romance.

After Eponine left, Courfeyrac had tried to start a conversation with him about the man who would not be named, but fortunately it only took one glare from Grantaire to get him to stop his words before they had chance to do their damage. Courfeyrac has never really been one for romance, much like Grantaire himself, in all honesty it was part of the reason they were such good friends. They both believed in having fun while they were young, and both were well aware of the fun in casual sex. Grantaire was well aware of the difference though, while he did it to bury the pain and to try and forget the golden ache, Courf genuinely just loved people. He loved people and he loved experiencing life. There was something about the way he was that made people love him, not in the inspirational way of Enjolras, no this was different. He made people want him. What he lacked in romantic knowledge, however, he made up with effort. But tonight however, Grantaire simply wasn’t in the mood for his so called advice, he just wanted to find his bottle of whiskey and drink till he passed out. There had already been too much Enjolras in their evening, he didn’t think he could bare anymore reminders about how lacking he was.

“Grantaire maybe-“ he started, before he was interrupted by a worn out Grantaire.

“Sort out your own love life first Courf, before you come preaching to me” he spat back at his friend, the words were cutting, just like he had intended and if he saw the crushed look on Courfeyrac’s face as he walked to his room, he didn’t show it.

* * *

The next day Grantaire woke up with his usual hangover and grabbed the hip flask which was now a permanent fixture on his bedside cabinet. He brought it to his lips and then thought about the disapproving glare Enjolras gave him every time he saw Grantaire stumble in to the café. No, he thought, not this time Apollo. Grantaire had woke up with an odd sense of inspiration, it was similar to the itch he got when he suddenly was struck with an idea for a painting. Instead of grabbing his brushes, he got up out of bed and straight in to the shower, avoiding all of the bottles of alcohol he had stashed in various places across the apartment. If Eponine and Courfeyrac wanted him to try, he would damn well try. He could do it. Right?

By the time he made it to the Musain in the evening after classes his hands were starting to shake slightly and he was even more irritable than usual. But still, he had not had a drink all day and that was something right? He had to try something, anything to get Enjolras to look at him with something other than distain. It was killing him slowly; those looks of derision and pity. Grantaire would not allow himself to be one of Enjolras’ precious causes.

Being around Enjolras was intense, like standing too close to a fire. It was beautiful to look at, dancing golden light and flames full of intensity and power but agony to touch. While others orbited at a safe distance, content to admire and follow their leader from afar; Grantaire ached in a different way. He ached to get closer, and the closer he got the more it burnt, the stronger the pain got.

With pain came alcohol. The sweet nectar in all its different forms was ice to his burns. While his drinking problems had started long before Enjolras, they had only grown in intensity since he had fallen head over heels in love with his Apollo. Each brush off, glare and cruel cutting word was a stab in his heart, but ever the masochist Grantaire always came back for more because he could not take being away from the beautiful fire that burned with Apollo’s grace for too long before he grew cold and numb.

He would try though, even though part of him whispered that trying to change was only going to set himself up for failure, he would try. That had to count for something surely?

When he walked in to the café everyone was already there. Immediately his gaze was drawn to Enjolras like usual, he was currently sitting next to Combeferre and they seemed to be engaged in some sort of intense discussion. Again, this did not surprise him; Enjolras had probably thought he’d figured out how to sort out the problems in the Middle East. Joly and Bossuet were sharing one of the big armchairs, and from the look on Joly’s face there was a new virus going around campus. That made him smirk a little bit before he carried on scanning the room. Jehan was folded up on his usual chair with a notebook on his lap and his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose, and if he wasn’t mistaken the young poet was staring at Courfeyrac as the man in question was talking and gesturing animatedly to Eponine. She however, did not look in the slightest bit interested, and Grantaire did not blame her. After a while, all of Courf’s ‘wild’ tales all sounded the same, and apart from the occasional anecdote, they had become very boring. Jehan was the only one left who actually listened to the stories anymore.

How those two weren’t together yet was another matter altogether. Grantaire pushed it to the side in his mind; he could focus on sorting the oblivious idiots out once his own immediate problems were sorted.

The only two out of the group that weren’t here was Marius and Cosette. Part of him was glad of this, because tonight of all nights he needed his best friend fully functional and not fawning over a certain Monsieur Pontmercy. God, Grantaire suddenly struck with the realisation that the majority of his friends really, really sucked at relationships. Well, at least he wasn’t alone in it.

Usually when Grantaire entered the café he was closer to drunk than he was sober and so was not the most graceful of people, today however he entered with such uncharacteristic stealth no one noticed him until he plopped down in the chair next to Eponine.

“Um, hi?” he hedged when he saw all of the confused and startled and faces looking back at him.

“Jesus Christ Taire, you scared the shit out of me.” Courfeyrac laughed.

“Well maybe you’ll adopt my stealth when you bring your next conquest home.” He replied dryly, noting the small scowl on Jehan’s face as he did. Courfeyrac just huffed and went back to whatever tale he was spinning, even if Eponine had completely turned around to face Grantaire instead.

“Are you okay?” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“Yeah I will be. I … Um I’m sober.” He replied in kind. Grantaire tried not to notice the shocked look on her face.

“Bloody hell R, did we actually get through to you last night? Are you gonna tell him?” she whispered, her tone positively scandalised. Before he had a chance to reply, the man in question spoke up.

“If you all could be quiet for a minute, I wanted to run the plan for the weekend by everyone,” As he spoke the entire group grew silent. His voice had that effect over them, it was a simple thing but they all responded it to it like Pavlov’s bloody dog.

“The rally is still going ahead as planned, we just need to get that last few bits organised. Now Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet are handing out flyers all week and Feuilly and Bahorel are in charge of the online stuff.” The aforementioned people nodded as their orders were called out.

“Grantaire do you think you could make some signs?” Enjolras asked, an uncharacteristic doubt was in his voice. Although, he never sounded sure when he asked Grantaire to do something as he was never one who really believed in the cause.

“Sure.” He replied simpled.

“Could you- wait, what?”

“I said: Sure.” He said with a frown. Was his acceptance really that much of a stretch? Was he really this unreliable?

“No arguments? No drunken slurs?” he replied cruelly, for once his cutting words were unprovoked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, _asshole_. I am sober.” Grantaire spat back simply. He couldn’t help the nasty tone, he was on edge and more tense than he had been in a while and it was all because of him. When the golden haired boy snorted, Grantaire almost lost it; Enjolras was the only reason he had tried to get sober, the least he could do was have a little faith. “

Do you not believe me?” He practically screamed, his voice was about as steady as his hands because he could no longer hide the tremors.

“Grantaire be serious.” Enjolras replied with an arrogant role of his eyes. It was the final stab, one more than he could take in one night. Could he really be that intolerable? Was his worth really as little as he had feared?

“I am wild.” He replied, his voice resigned. If this was all he was destined to be, then he would just have to enjoy it. With that he left, not looking back or saying good bye to any of his friends.

When he was outside and struck by the harsh, February air he was immediately reminded of how sober he was and the ache for a drink was intensified. He knew he couldn’t go back to his apartment just yet so instead he headed straight for his back up bar, with fortunately was only a short walk away.

He just needed to forget.

* * *

 

Colours were blurring together as he swayed slightly in his bar stool. The bartender looked at him with barely contained pity, and the look just made him want to drink even more. He couldn’t take anymore of people’s pity. He was happy, he was having the time of his life. He was wild. And he certainly did not need pity.

The last couple of hours had flown by in a flurry of shots, beer and cocktails until the golden hair and blue eyed vision had faded from the forefront of his mind. The image wasn’t quite gone, it never would be, but the intensity had faded. Now all he could feel was the lucid happiness only alcohol brought him.

“Grantaire.” A voice spoke from behind him, and when he spun in his seat Grantaire nearly threw up because his vision had come to life and was standing right in front of him.

“Oh fair Apollo, have you once again decided to grace us mere mortals with your presence?” Enjolras did not look to be amused by Grantaire’s drunken state or bizarre attempts at complimenting him.

“What are you doing?” his Apollo asked.

“Being wild.” Throwing his hands up for emphasis which in his drunken state only served to unbalance him. The colours and the people had disappeared and it was only then that he realised he was on the floor, which prompted a fit of giggles.

“For God’s sake. You’re coming home with me.”

“Oh at last!” Grantaire shouted, before he realised what he was saying.

Despite his slender frame, his Apollo had strength. One would almost think he would draw his strength from the crowds he spoke to, because Grantaire had never seen anyone move with such power and grace as Enjolras did in the heat of the moment in one of their rallies that had gone bad. Grantaire could feel all of that strength right now as Enjolras picked him up off of the floor, he knew he was heavy as he was making no effort himself to get up, instead just falling limp. Grantaire was just a dead weight at Enjolras’ side, and he couldn’t help but snort at that. What a perfect metaphor for his life right now. No matter what he did he seemed to be a dead weight on all of his friends lives, he never added to the group, only pulling them down with his cynicism and sarcasm.

His mind was running away again, spouting the constant self-abuse he usually drowned out with even more alcohol. He screwed his eyes shut and buried his face subconsciously into Enjolras’ neck.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” he murmured.

If he was less drunk, he would have been mortified, but in all honesty he wasn’t quite sure what was going on but the clean smell of soap and new paper that was so purely Enjolras was all that he could focus on and the world around him lost clarity. The last words he heard before he blacked out were soothing.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't trying to make this depressing... but it got away from me. I'm sorry. I JUST HAVE A SOFT FOR ANGSTY GRANTAIRE AND OBLIVIOUS ENJOLRAS.


	4. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire wakes up in the morning in a room that looks slightly familiar and he has no idea how he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this chapter was going, and I had a lot of trouble with it. Enjolras was being especially uncooperative.

The pounding in his head was the first thing that struck Grantaire when he started to emerge out of his fitful sleep. The second thing was the foul taste in his mouth. Yep. Definitely hung over. His habitual drinking habits meant he was more accustomed to the after affects than most people, but with how he was feeling now, Grantaire knew he had over done it last night. It wasn’t uncommon for things to go too far, especially when he was even more depressed than usual. Even though he distinctly remembered trying to stay sober yesterday, the aching pain and sense of shame said otherwise.

As he risked opening his eyes, along with the bright light of the morning sun he'd been dreaded, he was also treated to the sight of an unfamiliar room. It wasn't the first time he had woken up in a stranger’s bed, but there was something familiar about this barely lived in room. Spare room then. So at least he hadn't picked up a random guy again, but it did mean he had embarrassed himself in front one of his friends again.

Grantaire groaned and buried his head in the soft pillow. It wasn't the first time he had blacked out, but that wasn't the problem. He hated relying on his friends like that; it wasn't their job to pull him out of the gutter when he'd thrown himself in there in the first place. Grantaire was poison and he broke everything he touched.

He loved his friends, they were his crutch, but a crutch- no matter how strong would break eventually. It was a miracle his friends were still there.

Dragging himself out of his self-pity he attempted to sit up, and immediately froze when he saw was on the bedside table. A note, a glass of water and some pills. Upon seeing the note the memories of the night before (colours blurring, stumbling on the ground, strong arms holding him up, mumbled confessions) came rushing back to him.

_I am pretty sure you will need these when you wake up. I'll make breakfast in the morning. E x_

The note was sweet (in a stand offish way that was typically Enjolras) and it didn't show any signs of disgust, but then again that didn't mean anything. Enjolras was never one to hide behind empty gestures, if he was pissed off with Grantaire then he was sure to hear about it when he next time he saw them. And judging from the smell of bacon starting to waft under his door, the conversation was going to come sooner than he had hoped.

As he downed the pills and water in one quick gulp, he realised that he was only wearing his boxers. Mortified, he spotted his clothes nearly folded on the chair in the corner where Enjolras had undoubtedly left them. Which meant Enjolras had taken off his clothes. Whilst he was drunk.

And emotional.

And clingy.

Could this day get any more humiliating?

"Breakfast is ready!"

And _there_ it was.

There was no way he could face Enjolras after he had most likely embarrassed himself beyond all saving last night. His, for lack of a better word, relationship with Enjolras was tentative at best; Grantaire knew that the golden haired man barely tolerated him because of the rest of the group. Enjolras made no secret of his disdain for the art student and Grantaire felt it physically in his chest every time he looked at him with disgust or his words turned sharp and cruel.

Deciding he couldn’t stay in bed any longer (there was no way he was going to let Enjolras add ‘lazy’ on to his list of faults) Grantaire slowly pushed  himself off of the bed cursing the early morning and yearning to stay in the embrace of the stupidly high thread count sheets a moment longer. His clothes didn’t seem to be that crumpled but he still felt dishevelled and like a mess in them. There was nothing he wanted more right now than a hot shower, but unfortunately the fact he was miles away from his apartment and there was a Greek god between him and the door kind of scuppered those plans.

As he ventured out of the room (goodbye bed you were a wonderful friend) the smell of bacon hit him with full force and he was suddenly glad for it. The slightly queasy feeling in his stomach was replaced bit the rumbling of his hunger.

“I take it you’re ready for some food?” Enjolras said quietly as he appeared in the hallway, a tiny smile visible on his face.

“Oh god yes.” He groaned, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest when he saw that tiny smile grow a little bit at his outburst.

“Eat, then we can talk.” He said finally, before turning of his heels and heading back in the kitchen. Grantaire was left with a sickening feeling crawling back in to his stomach, and he didn’t feel as hungry as he had done only moments previously; what was it they had to talk about? Enjolras didn’t seem annoyed with him like he usually did, and he was never one for hiding his true feelings, so if Grantaire had done something wrong then he would know about it straight away. What had caused this unprecedented behaviour in his fearless leader? Instead of attempting to understand the unreadable, Grantaire accepted his fate for what it was and took what he could get; and in this case it was an awkward breakfast and relentless hang over.

The breakfast, as Grantaire predicted was rather awkward. They ate in silence and every time he looked up to try and sneak a glance at the man sitting opposite him, he found that he was being stared at in return. He tried his best not to blush, and returned to his breakfast which was surprisingly delicious.

“I thought you couldn’t cook?” Grantaire said jokingly, although mainly to break the silence they had imposed on themselves.

“I can’t usually, but I have a talent for breakfast it would seem. The other meals seem to pass me by.” Enjolras wasn’t joking, they all knew he had a tendency to skip meals – although it wasn’t intentional, he just got so wrapped up in his work he never really noticed what was going on. Many times he’d just skipped sleeping. They had all never forgotten last year when Enjolras actually had to be admitted to hospital for severe malnutrition and exhaustion.

“Well it’s really good. Thanks.” He says quietly, he doesn’t know why it does but it makes him feel unsettled to have this kind of conversation with Enjolras. It’s almost domestic.

“And for last night, I mean I can’t remember much of what happened really, but I’m here so you obviously did something to help.” Grantaire’s smile was a weak, feeble attempt but it was all he could imagined.

“You have nothing to thank me for, I wasn’t just going to leave you out there. It was my fault in the first place you were drinking so much.” Enjolras said plainly, and there was a quietly controlled passion in his words. They were real, and Grantaire knew he meant them. He felt unsteady in his seat.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Grantaire insisted.

“Eponine told me-“

“She’s lying!” he squeaked, not even letting Enjolras finished what he was saying. He knew for sure his face must be bright red by now.

“So you weren’t trying to give up drinking?” Enjolras looked confused, and was frowning slightly. Even the goddamn wrinkles caused by his frowning did nothing to mar his appearance. Grantaire caught on suddenly to watch he was saying and realised that maybe he had spoken just a tiny bit too soon.

“Yeah, I am. Well I was.” He admitted, even though he was ashamed at how little time he had managed on the wagon.

“I am truly sorry for the way I acted.” Enjolras was sincere, and as he leaned across the table to put his hand on top of Grantaire’s he felt his heart jump and it felt like it had leapt up in to his throat. There was barely enough brain function left in him to carry on breathing at a normal rate, let alone meet Enjolras’ eyes. His skin was soft, but not feminine. There was the definite calluses of someone who had used their hands a lot before, and the strength in his grip was the best part of all. Later he would chastise himself about how he pathetically reacted to a simple touch of skin on skin, but right now he felt as though he was flying.

“I have been a massive dick to you, and I feel bad. I will be a better friend to you okay?” Enjolras’ eyes were bright – the way he got when he talked about one of his causes. “If you need anything please talk to me? I want to help you through this, I am your friend.”

That word – _friend_ – was emphasised in his head. And it’s meaning hit him like a tonne of bricks. Sure this was progress, Enjolras was actually doing more than tolerating and was making an effort, but the platonic nature of their relationship was plainly stated. And even if Enjolras wasn’t aware of his affections he definitely didn’t have any signs of wanted anything more.

Grantaire was nothing if not a masochist, so he would take what he could get even if it meant flying closer to the flame than ever before. Icarus would be laughing at his stupidity, but Grantaire was hopelessly in love and the warmth of Enjolras’ flame however platonic was better than the coldness before.

“Yeah, you’re my friend.” Grantaire echoed, with a tight smile plastered on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll do a Enjolras chapter next, so you can see where his head is at and why he's acting so weirdly.  
> Hope you enjoyed it, and as usual feedback is encouraged and loved!


	5. Apollo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is confused, but luckily help is on hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I haven't updated in a while, enjoy!  
> (apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes or any Enjolras OOCness, I just can't seem to get a handle on him in this fic)

Grantaire left abruptly after that and they had that conversation and the goodbye was awkward at best. Enjolras didn't know what was wrong with him, if there was one thing he was most sure of (and Enjolras was sure of a lot of things) it was his way with his words. He could hardly think of a time where he had tripped over his words as much as he did around Grantaire. There was something about the man that made Enjolras' usual silver tongue turn to led.

After Grantaire had left Enjolras groaned and let his head fall on to the table with a loud smack, and tried not to whimper at the pain blossoming behind his eyes.

The night before Enjolras had been so mad at Grantaire, he had shown up for the meeting in a foul mood, usually it took him half an hour or so to get warmed up and fully into to his cynical rants. Yesterday however, it was different. As soon as he arrived there was just an air of agitation surrounding him and Enjolras wasn’t going to stand for any of it. It frustrated him no end that Grantaire would constantly try and undermine him and make him look bad; the worst part of it was that Enjolras knew he was very intelligent, they had had countless logical and intellectual discussions and Grantaire held his own a lot longer than anyone else in the group would have, Combeferre included. Even when he could barely walk Grantaire was able to quote philosophers and great works of literature and argue his point with such fervour a lesser man would back down straight away. Enjolras had no idea why he couldn’t just turn his attention towards causes that matter instead of drowning himself in alcohol. It made him sad in all honesty, Grantaire had such promise and passion it was just tightly locked away and very well guarded. The older man very rarely let any kind of venerability show, and it made Enjolras wonder what had happened in Grantaire’s past to make him so jaded, so scorned that the only solace he could find was at the bottom of a bottle.

What hurt the worst though was the fact that Grantaire had actually been trying. Something had happened that made him want to quit drinking, he had some spark of belief and of hope left in him. Until Enjolras had come along and quelled that small ember before it had a real chance to burn as bright as Enjolras knew it could.

Enjolras sat there for a lot longer than he was willing to admit, going over the last couple of days over and over in his head, trying to make some sort of sense of the odd twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was more than pure annoyance, but then again he wasn’t sure he had ever felt pure and simple annoyance where Grantaire was concerned. Frustration and annoyance were common feelings that were true, but there was also something else. A tangible feeling he could not quite name.

For the first time in his life Enjolras felt lost. Even when rebelling against his parents grasp on him, Enjolras was sure of himself, he knew what he was doing was right and that belief gave him to drive to continue. But now, he had no idea what to think, his mind was a swirling mess of confusion and disbelief. He needed help.

Enjolras grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to both Combeferre and Jehan, who had both been his friends longer than anyone. Well, technically ‘Ferre had been his friend longest, as they had met in year three and not parted since; but they had both met Jehan on the first day of year seven and since then the three of them had been inseparable. Enjolras and Combeferre had been there when Jehan’s dad hit him for the first time because of his sexuality, and likewise his friends had been their when Enjolras was kicked out at seventeen. Not that losing contact with his bourgeois parents was any major loss; his friends had been his crutch in those first few desperate months. Enjolras had seen Combeferre at his most shaken, the usually immovable calm that was their guide lost his way for almost a year after his mother loss her battle with cancer when Combeferre was only sixteen. They were each other’s rocks, and Enjolras knew if there was anyone who would be able to help him sift through the shit going on in his head it would be Combeferre and Jehan.

Soon enough both of his friends were knocking gently on the door and Enjolras begrudgingly dragged himself off of the kitchen chair and opened the door. Evidently Combeferre and Jehan had decided to come together to because a full frontal attack, so Enjolras didn’t even fight as Jehan dragged him down on to the sofa. The poet was clutching a large tub and as soon as the lid was opened Enjolras immediately knew what it was.

“You made your special rose water cookies?” Enjolras exclaimed, he was shocked because Jehan hadn’t made the cookies in over a year as they were very special and it had become a sort of tradition to save them for the direst of situations.

“Oh of course, it is not every day our leader asks for help, let alone from me personally.” Jehan answered, his words were not meant to have any spite in them, the poet was simply glad that his romantic advice was going to be called on for once. Not that Enjolras had actually specifically asked for romantic advice, Jehan just had a way of knowing these kinds of things. To be honest Enjolras didn’t even know if he would class his situation as romantic, but it was uncharted territory and there was no one he trusted more than the men sitting in front of him.

Combeferre was sat on the armchair in the corner and pushed his slender, wire rimmed glasses back up his nose and sighed. “So are you going to tell us what’s wrong or do we have to guess?”

Enjolras pouted, he hated when Combeferre was like this, treating him like he was a child that didn’t know enough about the big wide world even though Enjolras would have enough knowledge and drive in him to over throw a small government on a bad day.

“It’s Grantaire.” He stated, and this time his pout turned into a scowl when both Combeferre and Jehan let out twin groans at his statement.

“What has our raven haired artist done to upset you this time?”

“Or rather what have you done to upset him?” Combeferre added, and Jehan murmured his agreement around the cookie he was happily munching on.

“Why do you assume that I did something to upset him?” he cried.

“Well Enj, we all saw what happened last night. The way Grantaire stormed out after your … conversation.”

Never of them mentioned how Eponine had explained later on after Enjolras had left to go find Grantaire that the reason the man had quit drinking – or at least addressed that he had a problem and something needed to change – was Enjolras himself. Grantaire had apparently had enough of feeling like crap and wanted to prove something to Enjolras that he wasn’t just a waste of space. None of the Amis ever believed that Enjolras could possibly think of Grantaire that way, after all no one who truly knew him would be able to miss the intelligence and goodness in him. But then again none of them had ever said they could understand the way Grantaire’s mind worked.

“Well, I mean it’s more of what happened after that I suppose.” Enjolras said, looking down at his hands uncomfortably. Although he didn’t miss the look shared between Combeferre and Jehan, but he thought he’d save that till later.

“Did something happen?” Jehan asked carefully, and he tried not to wince at the glare Enjolras sent him.

“I found him afterwards in a random bar, and he was a mess. Like seriously wasted, more so than I’ve ever seen him before. He just seemed s-so broken.” His voice trailed off quietly, still remembering the way Grantaire's eyes looked so empty and blank as he clung on to Enjolras for support.

“This morning it was awkward, and I tried to apologise for yesterday. How was I supposed to know he’d quit? I just thought he was trying to undermine me as usual. You know me; I’m not good with _people_ things.” Enjolras desperately tried to explain, flinging his arms about with frustrated hand gestures as he attempted to articulate himself which wasn’t working out too well at that point.

“Enjolras we love you, you are brilliant in many, many ways but you are obviously lacking something in that oversized brain if you really think the only thing Grantaire wants is to _undermine_ you.” Combeferre responded, sounding much more exasperated than usual. Even Jehan threw a cookie at him.

“What do you mean? At every opportunity the man tries to make look like a fool, he has no greater pass time other than drinking.” He spat. Enjolras immediately regretted the words as soon as they were out, but even though the man wasn’t there he could still feel himself getting riled up.

“Why do you think he comes to the meetings? He is our friend, yes. But that doesn’t mean he is obligated to come to group meetings.”

“Enjolras, it’s you.” Jehan explained.

“Grantaire is in love with you,” Combeferre sighed, not quite believing that he had to spell this out to his best friend. Everyone knew how Grantaire felt, and most of them suspected the same about Enjolras. “He has been since Courfeyrac dragged him along to that first meeting and he heard you speak.”

“Grantaire just wants you attention. You would never give him the time of day if he didn’t provoke you. He isn’t academic like you, and it’s no great secret you have no appreciation for art, how else would Grantaire think to get your undivided attention?”

“He can’t love me. He hates me, doesn’t he?” Enjolras spluttered, his friends words were doing very little to ease the ache in his chest or stop the queasiness in his stomach.

“It’s sexual tension.”

“Enjolras I have known for years and I have never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Grantaire.”

Enjolras cared for Grantaire like he cared for all of his friends, but was these strange sensations he’d been feeling really that of affection? He didn’t quite know how the cynic had managed to work his way so entirely into every aspect of his life. The initial hatred he had felt had eventually turned to tolerance and then to caring, and now to more? It was all very confusing, and for someone as surefooted and single minded as Enjolras, it was unsettling.

“Does everyone know?” he answered finally, with his voice resigned.

“Yes.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and reached for a cookie. Jehan had by now wrapped himself up entirely in a random blanket and was all but on Enjolras’ lap. “Everyone except you two it would seem.”

Enjolras frowned. “What should I do then?”

This time it was Jehan that snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Tell him you fool, or I’ll write him a rather explicit poem and send him it signed with your name.” Jehan said simply, with an impish grin on his face.

It was anyone else Enjolras would have hit them.

“Fine.” He agreed, even though his head was spinning with all of this new information and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. Someone though, he thought, things would be okay. The first time in the last few months he had a handle on his feelings and name for what he was thinking.

If he could plan to overthrow the corrupt governments and companies in this world then surely a confession of love wouldn’t be that hard?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're enjoying this fic (and I'm hoping at least a few people are) then check out some of my other stuff, I'm writing another e/R verse which I am loving writing - called After The Storm.
> 
> my tumblr is - grantarious  
> my fic tumblr - angelaofthelord
> 
> FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS MUCH APPRECIATED I LOVE YOU ALL OK


	6. Three Musketeers of Unrequited Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire goes over things in his head, and calls on his best friend.

When he got home after the awkward morning with Enjolras, there was nothing Grantaire wanted more than to get wasted. However, in light of the adorably confused way that Enjolras had tried to reach out to him he was filled with another burst of purpose. It was a well-known fact that Enjolras was emotionally constipated, so to see him try and comfort him and apologise was truly a rare sight to see – even if words had failed the usually perpetually confident man. Enjolras stumbling over words was the biggest shock of all.

Usually when he woke up in another man’s bed, the morning was awkward for other reasons; today was a day of firsts it would seem. Enjolras eyes were pleading instead of full of contempt and derision, and even though he seemed awkward and uncomfortable it didn’t seem like Enjolras didn’t want him there. He felt off kilter and confused, he didn’t know how to process it. Grantaire had been fine when he knew where he stood – Enjolras tolerated him, whilst Grantaire loved him. That was the way they were, the way they always had been and always would be. _That was the way_.

Now his head was spinning, and a whole stream of thoughts and hopes was swirling around in his mind and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Having a little hope was dangerous, and Grantaire knew this from experience. Hope was like a delicate flame, it was beautiful to see and admire but it only took the tiniest of breezes to extinguish it. You couldn’t protect that flame from the wind no matter how hard you tried, if you attempted to cover it from the breeze then you either smothered it yourself or got burnt in the process. Cynicism was second nature to him by now, it was an old friend that he could fall back on him whenever he needed to, and usually he was welcomed with a bottle of wine.

Grantaire sighed defeated as he walked in the apartment, and leant back against the door as he shut it and stood there, just wallowing. The walk back from Enjolras’ apartment had killed the pain in his head, but unfortunately it had given him a lot of time to go over everything and paranoia had set in. nothing was making sense and he was even more confused than when he had left.

He didn’t know how long he had actually been stood there – well not stood anymore, at some point he had sank to the ground and curled in on himself. However long he had been there, it had obviously been awhile because when he felt a kick to a shin, he pulled his head up drowsily.

“What.” He spat.

“Can you move please?” Courfeyrac asked politely, all things considered.

“Can’t you see I’m wallowing in myself pity here?” he said, glaring up at Courf with the most passion he could muster.

“When are you not wallowing?” He replied, although not meanly. “I promise we can whine together when I get back, but I’m meeting Jehan.”

Grantaire immediately understood the implication behind that statement, got up and patted Courfeyrac on the back. It was not secret – well not to Grantaire – that Courfeyrac had a major thing for Jehan. He had known ever since they’d both gone to the Musain’s art night first time for the first time. When they were both in their first year of university the café decided to put on an art night, Musichetta – who owned the café – had convinced him to put up a few of his pieces, along with some of Feuilly’s and a few other people in their art course. Apart from the art, other people were doing some poetry readings and Jehan had finally got up the courage to show everyone his work, and no one was going to miss it for the world. Especially Courfeyrac.

Grantaire saw the way Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up when Jehan started speaking, with a gently controlled passion. He was enraptured by the waifish man on stage. It was only about half a year ago that Courfeyrac had actually realised what his feelings for Jehan were, even though Grantaire had known for the better part of three years. Now Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Eponine had dubbed themselves the three musketeers of unrequited love; although it was a nickname they only shared between themselves.

Courfeyrac gave him a blinding grin and practically skipped off down the hall. He couldn’t help a chuckle despite his foul mood; at least one of them was happy.

With that thought he decided to share his misery.

**_You:_ ** _dude do you want to come over and get wasted with actually getting wasted_

**_Eponine:_ ** _shall I bring food?_

**_You:_ ** _I’ll get the dvds set up._

**_Eponine:_ ** _I’ll be there in ten_

Grantaire grabbed his Doctor Who box set and queued up the first episode and sat down to wait for Eponine. He was lying face down on the sofa by time she got there, announcing her arrival by throwing a bag of Haribos at his head.

“Get up asshole and tell mama ‘Ponine what’s wrong.” She said as she shoved at his legs until he got the hint and sat up. Eponine flopped down on the sofa and curled up next to him, Grantaire automatically wrapped his arm around her shoulders. It was second nature for them to sit with each other like this when one or the other was feeling shitty. So because they were the people they were, it happened a lot.

“Seriously man, what’s up?” she asked again, softer this time.

Grantaire snorted. “Like you even need to ask.”

“Well I gathered who it was about. I mean what especially did he do this time?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not even sure what happened.” He sighed frustrated, and ran his free hand through his hair. “I woke up in his flat and-“

“YOU FUCKED HIM?” she shouted, even though she was _right next to his ear that goddamn bitch._ She slapped him on the arm whilst giggling, Grantaire frowned. He was getting really mixed signals.

“No. I did not have the pleasure.” Eponine pouted. “But from what I can work out – and sort of remember – Enjolras found me in a bar last night, took me home and put me to bed. Somewhere in between I managed to get undressed, and whether he undressed me or I undressed in front of him remains to be seen.”

Grantaire cringed when he thought about it, and buried his face in Eponine's smooth hair. There was no way he had the motor skills to fold his clothes up like they were, so Enjolras was definitely there when he stripped.

“Well that’s not too bad, I mean considering some of the things you’ve done when you were drunk-“

“It’s not even that though, there was something about the way he was acting in the morning. He kept saying how he was my friend and how he was there for me, whenever I need him.”

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to force the self-deprecating thoughts down, and think clearly.

“H-he was awkward you know? Like I don’t know if it was forced or he was just trying to make me feel better so I don’t drink or he felt guilty cause I drank because we argued or- or…” Grantaire knew he was rambling, and he was getting too focussed in his mind, almost locked on. He felt like tearing his hair out or screaming or just _something_. There was something fucked up in his mind he thought, often thought actually.

“R, you need to calm down. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think it was. I mean he wasn’t a dick to you?” she reasoned. “Look, Enjolras has never hated you. You are the only who thinks that.”

Grantaire sighed and rolled his eyes.

“The man barely tolerates me.” He whispered.

“This is bullshit Grantaire, I know you can’t see past your cloud of cynicism and self-doubt, but if I can see the way the lump of marble stares at you, there’s definitely something there.”

“Look at how far you two have come; you could barely be in the same room without nearly strangling each other. Now? Now, he’s the first one running after you when you leave. He’s the one who is jumping out of their seat. Enjolras abandoned a meeting to look for you. If that doesn’t say something I don’t know what will.” Eponine’s eyes were burning. When she got into something she really did not hide her passion.

“Look I know we are supposed to be the three musketeers of unrequited love, but in actuality it’s just me isn’t it? I mean it’s only a matter of time until either Jehan or Courf snaps. And it’s same with you. I’ve not got any hope and I know that. I have to move on, but there is no one I’m letting you wallow while you still have a shot.”

Grantaire nodded after a second, there was no point arguing with her. Then again, she was never really wrong – when she was it was a rare event to be celebrated. He just sighed in the most aggressive way he could and leant his head on the top of eponine’s.

“Now if you don’t stop bitching there will be no Haribos for you.”

“Woman, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” Grantaire didn’t want to. “Anyway which series are we on?”

“One, thought we’d go for some Nine.”

“Excellent.” She said, grinning. “My favourite.”

“And anyone who thinks otherwise is not welcome in my house.”

* * *

 

They ended up watching the whole series (which was a testament to how lazy they could actually be – and to how little school work they did). And Eponine left for her shift at the Musain soon after leaving Grantaire to sprawl out over the sofa by himself.

At first he thought about painting, but he was so tired he couldn’t even think of where to begin. Instead he just laid there and tried to fight off sleep while watching a QI marathon. Just as he thought he was about to fall asleep he heard a knock at the door. Grantaire muttered under his breath as he pulled himself up off of the sofa slowly. He rubbed his eyes to try and clear the vision, as he found himself bleary eyed.

He rubbed his eyes again when he pulled the door open and found himself faced with a drenched Enjolras, who was panting and leaning against the door frame. His curls were wilted and sticking to his forehead, begging to be pushed back out of his eyes. Grantaire knew that Enjolras didn’t care much for what clothes he wore, so he would probably be oblivious to the way his clothes clung obscenely to his wet body. The white top was nearly see through thanks to the rain, and Grantaire unconsciously licked his lips as he saw to dusky outline of his nipples through the top.

“We need to talk.” Enjolras stated unceremoniously before barging past a shell shocked Grantaire who was still reeling at the sudden appearance of a soaked Greek god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feed back is always appreciated in whatever form!  
> tumblr: impalatoisengard (personal) and angelaofthelord (writing)


	7. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is having an absolutely horrific day so far, although he is hoping to change that. Grantaire and Enjolras have an important conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I could have made this longer, but I thought I'd post it now as two instead of one long one.

Enjolras was, to put it lightly, having an absolutely abysmal day.

After his talk with Jehan and Combeferre, in a fit of mad passion Enjolras decided to run over to Grantaire’s flat and confess his affections. He was trying to refrain from using the phrase ‘love’ as it sounded cheesy and actually vocalising it was a big thing, it made his chest tight for some reason. But anyway, Enjolras decided if he didn’t go over now then he never would, it was better to go while he was full of confidence in himself. After all, he had rehearsed his speech to Combeferre and Jehan at least five times. There was no way he could screw this up.

Well, that was what he thought until he got the end of the street and heard a crack of thunder. Within minutes there was a downpour and his curls were plastered to his forehead and his shoes were full of water and squelching with every step. He attempted to carry on with his running (as after all Grantaire’s place wasn’t too far away and Enjolras was diligent with keeping fit) but after also slipping over twice he admitted defeat and dropped to speed walking.

The rain was horrendous, true British irony as at the beginning of the week they’d been declared to be in a drought. When he felt his skin starting to get wet through his three layers Enjolras had to admit defeat and get a taxi. Luckily it didn’t take him long to get one.

Once he was on the move again, and finally out of the down pour he allowed himself to breathe. He slumped in his seat and let his soaked head fall back on to the head rest. Enjolras’ heart was pounding in his chest and he didn’t know if it was because of the running or the impending confrontation. Either way he attempted to get his breathing under control and screwed his eyes shut.

“Where are you heading man?” came the voice from the front seat, and Enjolras suddenly realised he hadn’t even given the driver the address.

When they were moving Enjolras realised he better check his phone, as he after he ran out on Combeferre and Jehan they would be probably be worried about him. Despite it was the two of them that convinced him to go in the first place, his best friends were the type of people would worry about him no matter what he did. Enjolras didn’t do things by halves, if he was set on something he would see it through with the full force of his passion – Combeferre and Jehan probably thought he would be married to Grantaire by now.

He put his hand in his pocket and froze. His phone wasn’t there. When he swore loudly the driver glared at him in the mirror, and Enjolras couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise. It must have fallen out sometime when he was running (and slipping over).  He couldn’t believe it. That phone was his life line. It had literally everything on it, if he couldn’t bring his laptop with him to places his phone worked just as well. It had all of his schedules on it, his contacts, emails, links to all of the activist groups he was part of as well as everything else.

Enjolras didn’t have enough time to go running around the flooded streets now. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. There was nothing to do but wait until he could afford a new one, and just struggle on without it. When did he get so dependent on technology anyway?

He was in middle mumbling something about the capitalist culture and the grips western society, when the taxi came to a grinding stop with a cluttering and clunking sound.

“We’re not here.” Enjolras stated stupidly.

“I know we’re not.” The driver said, and his voice was restrained. Enjolras knew he was trying not to snap at him. “Look mate, the car isn’t going anywhere right now. Not until I get this engine fixed. You’ll have to walk from here.”

“Fine.” Enjolras snapped back, his mood matching that of the driver’s. In a fit of pure stubbornness, Enjolras counted out the exact change and no tip.

As he stepped out he let out another string of curses when he realised that the rain hadn’t relented and was coming down just as hard as it was before. He was a few minutes away from having a full blown tantrum at the whole thing.

At least he was almost at Grantaire’s he thought, as he crossed the road.

This was about the time a cyclist crashed in to his side.

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.” He shouted as he picked himself up off the ground.

“I am so sorry man I didn’t-“

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He spat out, his tone making it very clear that it was not in fact okay at all. The man on the bike looked suitably terrified and he had lost all the colour in his face.

“A-are you okay? D-do you need me to call an ambulance or something?” Enjolras’ fury weakened slightly when he saw the tears in his eyes. He often forgot that other people weren’t accustomed to the way he acted. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made a total stranger cry, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m okay I think – just bruised. I-I have somewhere to be.” Enjolras shot the man a weak smile and stumbled away.

As soon as he started walking he was aware of the throbbing pain at his side, and he was certain that it would bruise badly. Enjolras frowned and ran his fingers over one cheekbone and was annoyed to find that his fingertips came away bloody.

Eventually he made it to Grantaire’s flat. He was limping slightly (he suspected that he had a sprained ankle), soaked through to the bone and miserable.

But still, he couldn’t help but smile slightly as he made his way up the steps. He wasn’t far away now, if he made it this far then it would take a hell of a lot to stop him now. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt slightly dizzy – but he was high with it.

When Grantaire opened the door Enjolras couldn’t help looking him up and down, he’d changed out of what he’d been wearing that morning, and was now wearing a soft, worn paint stained t shirt and faded jogging bottoms. It created a softer image of Grantaire, he looked blurred around the edges, especially with the way his hair was mussed and his eyes were bleary from sleep.

Enjolras met his eyes and saw that Grantaire was staring at him, much the same way as he had been staring at Grantaire. The man in question didn’t look like he was going to make any move to say anything so Enjolras decided to take control.

 “We need to talk.” He stated, and walked into the flat without so much as an invitation.

“O-okay.” Grantaire said, clearly shocked.

“Why are you limping?”

Oh. He had forgotten about that. Now that Grantaire had actually noticed his injuries (actually Enjolras was surprised about the fact he hadn’t already noticed, usually Grantaire was fussing around his at the slightest thing) he started flapping like he usually did.

“I got hit by a bike on the way over here, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” he argued. “We have to get you checked out.”

“No seriously, I’m fine. I think I might have sprained my ankle, but apart from that and some bruising I’ll survive.”

“Are you sure?” Grantaire was reluctant to admit defeat it would seem, and if it was any other day then Enjolras would be exasperated with him.

“I have something important to discuss with you and I’d rather it if you didn’t focus on my superficial injuries.”

Grantaire just nodded dumbly and sat down with a thud on the sofa.

“First of all, have you had anything to drink today?”

“Only water and tea.”

“Good.” Enjolras grinned – actually grinned – at this confession and pressed on. “You have no idea how nervous I am about this, and yes I can hear you snorting, don’t make fun of me. I am nervous, and this is very new so it would be much appreciated if you let me say what I have to say and power through.”

He took a deep breath and composed himself.

“You are one of the most infuriated people I have ever met, but I admire you greatly. You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met as well – and the most beautiful. You are the only person who truly challenges me, who aren’t scared away by my passion and my ‘righteous fury’ as you call it. Grantaire you keep me grounded. You are the first person to ever truly get under my skin and stay there.”

“You have rooted yourself so impossibly deep in my mind that I don’t think I’ll ever be free of you. Not that I want to – at all. For the longest time I didn’t fully understand what these feelings are and so I am afraid I have acted like a child and hit out. My feelings came across as annoyance and distain, I realise this now. In truth I had no idea that you thought I hated you, in fact it is quite the opposite.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say – in the most long winded way possible – is that I really, really like you Grantaire. Romantically. In case you didn’t pick up on that. And if you return the sentiment, I would very much like to partake in a relationship with you.”

Enjolras could feel his cheeks heating up, but he kept his gaze strong and his eyes locked on Grantaire. The man was sat on the sofa in what looked to be a state of pure shock. His mouth was hanging open slightly and his eyes were wide. For a good minute or so he didn’t even move a muscle.

Enjolras actually started panicking slightly – had he over stepped the mark? Had Combeferre and Jehan’s advice been misplaced? He wasn’t used to being so unsure, this was a whole new territory for him and he didn’t like being unsettled like this.

All of a sudden Grantaire stood up. It was a violent jerky movement, and all of Grantaire’s usual grace had disappeared. It was as if his mind was somewhere else, it probably was now he thought about it.

Grantaire made his way over the Enjolras in three long strides – Enjolras was immediately struck with how long his legs actually were; the man was graceful and slender underneath all of his gruff layers. When Grantaire reached him he stopped just short, and he was in his personal space. All Enjolras could smell was Grantaire – it wasn’t alcohol for once, rather a comforting smell of soap, sugar and tea.

Before he had a chance to say anything Grantaire grabbed his face roughly with both hands and brought their faces crashing together in a hard kiss. At the first contact Enjolras couldn’t help but squeak – a sound he would later deny. However, as soon as he realised what was actually happening – that this was happening, and Grantaire wasn’t punching him – he melted into the kiss.

Their lips moved in perfect tandem, soft and gentle but there was and underlying heat and passion to the kiss. When Grantaire ran his tongue along the seam between his lips Enjolras couldn’t hold back the tiny gasp that made his break the kiss.

He looked at Grantaire who was grinning wildly, with laughter in his shining eyes.

“Oh Apollo. How could you ever doubt how I feel about you? I am surprised it has taken you this long to figure it out. Although you probably had help didn’t you?”

Enjolras nodded slightly, begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t come to the conclusion on his own.

“I can’t believe you want me.” He added, quieter now.

Enjolras looked at him with sad eyes and tilted his chin up with one finger so Grantaire would meet his eyes.

“Never doubt that Grantaire. I know you are not one to believe in things, you are a cynic at heart and I will try and change that but I fear it is too embedded in you. I don’t mind it – not like I used to. The only thing you have to believe in is me, believe in me and my feelings for you.”

Grantaire’s smile was back, although it was less of a grin and shyer this time.

“I’ll always believe in you. You know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter .... we have the sex.  
> and I'll bring more of the boys into it. I'm also thinking of turning this into a proper series, instead of just a stand alone fic? what does everyone think?


	8. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire finally get what they want.

Grantaire, to put it simply, was soaring. It was an indescribable feeling that had gripped his chest. Was there a romantic way to say it felt like someone had pulled his heart up in to his throat? Probably not, but it was the only stream of words that came to him right now. Give him time and patience then Grantaire would be the first to come forth with a speech full of eloquence and classical literature references. However now, with Enjolras standing in to front of him, with big wide blue eyes staring hopefully up at him and his soft pink lips parted around a silent word, his words escaped him.

“I-I ….” He tried, before his words trailed off yet again.

However Enjolras was here, and whatever twist of fate this was it wasn’t one he was going to discount. With a shaky breath and an even more unsteady hand, Grantaire cupped Enjolras’ face and tilted it upwards. Slowly – oh so painfully slowly – he leant in and pressed his lips against Enjolras’. It was firm and assured, which was more than he could have hoped for in his less than sure state.

When he started the kiss is was Enjolras that responded the most, which was not what Grantaire had expected. In actual fact he had expected that he would have to restrain himself a lot as to not scare off his marble lover. How would it seem if such a lowly person attacked a god like him, with promised of mortal sin and carnal pleasure. Enjolras was the very picture of purity, and it hurt him to defile and corrupt such an image but with the slightly chapped lips sliding softly against his own Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to care.

Enjolras was here, and he wanted him. It wasn’t a fantasy anymore, it was a fact. If Grantaire was the reason that this angel was going to fall he was damn well going to enjoy it.

Grantaire treaded his fingers through the soft curls that wisped around the nape of Enjolras’ neck; he then tried to deepen the kiss. He nibbled slightly at the full bottom lip and tried not to grin as Enjolras gasped.

“Good?” he whispered.

Enjolras nodded and his reverent gaze was kept firmly fixed on him. Grantaire tried to repress a shudder under the intensity; it was hard to feel steady when he had all of Enjolras’ passion trained purely on him.

“Do you want to er move this to the bedroom?” he said with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. Grantaire knew how cheesy it was, but it had the desired effect and broke the almost stifling tension surrounding them. Enjolras giggled – actually giggled – and it was a sound Grantaire never thought he would ever hear. Enjolras confessing feelings was more of a reachable goal for him than hearing Enjolras _giggle_. But here he was both of the unattainable having happened within mere minutes of each other.

“Do you even need to ask?” Enjolras answered, but the usual confidence in his voice that wavered. The way he looked up at Grantaire through his eyelashes was almost demure.

God help him, Grantaire wanted to ruin that innocence.

He leant in for one more heated kiss that left them both breathless before grabbing both of Enjolras’ wrists tightly and he dragged him across the room.

Most people would have assumed Grantaire’s room would be a mess – and to most people it was – but it was organised chaos. A fitting metaphor Grantaire thought, and he lived for metaphors.

He had numerous chairs around the edge of the room, one was his ‘wardrobe’ chair, one was had a pile of sketch books and brushes and used up art supplies and one was being used as a make shift easel for his canvas. It was blank at the moment but the beginning of a painting was beginning to form, this morning it was have been dark, dark reds and black. Now however the red was still there but it was softer, no sharp edges. An abstract piece full of emotion and highlighted with gold and pale pastels.

Again – Grantaire lived for metaphors.

Enjolras stopped in the doorway behind him and Grantaire didn’t realise that he had until after he had taken his top off and turned around. He could feel his face flushing under Enjolras’ hungry gaze. Grantaire knew he wasn’t that athletic, his body was lean but he had not real muscles – he was bordering on too skinny. But with the way Enjolras was staring at the soft trail of hair from his belly button to where it disappeared beyond his trousers – he felt desirable.

“Fuck.” Enjolras whispered.

“Hopefully.” Grantaire replied with a grin on his face.

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and strode over to Grantaire (he didn’t just walk like a normal person oh no, Enjolras had a _strut_ ). His shirt was still damp as was his hair Grantaire noticed, when he saw a droplet of water ran down the side of his face and under his jaw he couldn’t help but bend down and press his mouth to Enjolras’ heated skin and catch it in his mouth.

Enjolras’ groan didn’t go unnoticed as the press of lips soon turned into a full open mouthed kiss that left Enjolras squirming. Grantaire brought his hands up and started to unbutton his shirt, still kissing Enjolras’ neck, occasionally biting and scraping his teeth along the soft stubble of his jaw line.

By time Grantaire had unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it off Enjolras’ shoulders, the man was a quivering mess. He chuckled softly as he pulled away from him, falling softly to his knees.

“W-what are you-“

“Relax Apollo, even you can’t be this naïve.”

He undid the button and zipper of Enjolras’ trousers with his slightly shaking hands. Grantaire could see how hard Enjolras was and it was making his mouth water at the sight of the straining bulge in front of him. Slowly he pulled down his trousers and boxers down at once, and watched intently as his cock sprung free.

Grantaire licked along the soft skin next to dick, so very close but not yet touching. Teasing ever so slightly, he blew gently over the dripping head. Enjolras hands were treaded through his hair tugging ever so gently. The pressure was perfect and made him groan. He couldn’t hold back and took Enjolras slowly in his mouth.

The fingers gripping on his hair tightened and _pulled_. Grantaire moaned around the dick that was heavy on his tongue. This was all the encouragement he needed as he soon set to work moving his heap up and down, taking more and more of Enjolras’ cock in his mouth each time.

He could soon feel the blunt head pressing against the back of his throat and he struggled to get his breathing under control. The sounds that Enjolras was making above him were pure sin, and Grantaire couldn’t get enough of it. His usually tightly controlled demeanour was falling apart and his walls were crumbling. Enjolras was making soft, breathy whimpers and tiny groans. It sounded like he was trying to keep it together and hold his sounds in.

Well, Grantaire could change that.

He set to work with his most tried and tested tricks. Hollowing his cheeks he sucked hard, revelling in the low groan that he pulled from Enjolras. Grantaire curled his tongue around the tip and rolled his eyes back as the salty sweet taste hit him.

“I-I don’t do this often.” Enjolras started. “So ugh I – I don’t think… oh _god_ Grantaire.”

Grantaire pulled back and grinned up at him wolfishly.

“Yes Apollo?”

“I won’t last long.” He warned.

Grantaire just rolled his eyes and stood up to face Enjolras. He leant in to kiss him but stopped short of his lips.

“Get on the bed.”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate to comply – and Grantaire was very much enjoying the fact that he was following Grantaire’s lead without as much as an argument.

He took his pants off as he went and laid himself out on the bed. Grantaire felt his mouth go dry at the sight of Enjolras spread out and naked, just wait for him – willing and writhing.

He didn’t hesitate to get the rest of his own clothes off and join him on the bed, reaching in the bedside drawer as he went to fish out the lube and a condom.

Grantaire’s hands were shaking as he coated his fingers with lube, and for the first time that day it wasn’t because of his sobriety. He didn’t want to fuck this up, sex had always been fun and casual for him but now that it was with Enjolras it was so big and meaningful he didn’t know what to do.

“Relax R.” Enjolras said, with a smile on his face and he wrapped one hand around Grantaire’s wrist and guiding him down between his legs.

At the sign of encouragement he immediately felt more confident and set to work. He hesitantly pushed one finger in and waited for Enjolras’ sign to continue, and when he did Grantaire started to finger him in earnest.

Grantaire leaned down and kissed Enjolras as he pushed a second finger in, swallowing up Enjolras’ moans. He scissored his fingers, groaning at the heat and the tightness. As soon as he thought he was stretched enough he fumbled with the condom and covered himself with lube.

Enjolras looked thoroughly debauched, his hair was still damp but this time it was from sweat not from rain. And there was a fine sheen of sweat on his bare chest that made his marble skin look like it was gleaming. Grantaire couldn’t resist, he bend down and licked over Enjolras’ nipple as he started to push it. He swirled his tongue and nibbled slightly when he felt that Enjolras was tensing. It did its job and Enjolras moaned distracted from the initial burn of Grantaire’s cock pushing into him.

Grantaire moaned loudly. “Oh fuck you’re tight.”

Enjolras laughed slightly, more of a huff of breath than anything.

“Like I said, I don’t do this often.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow and smirked as he snapped his hips forward.

“How long has it been?” he asked, he started rolling hips and grinning at the way Enjolras’ eyes rolled back in his head. He still wasn’t answered though, so Grantaire started fucking harder. With the long column of Enjolras’ throat exposed he took the chance and attached his lips. Nipping slightly he sucked on the skin and pulled back to admire the mark he’d made.

“How. Long. Has. It. Been.” He asked again, punctuating each word with snap of his hips.

Enjolras scowled up at him and his lips were firmly pressed together. But when Enjolras threw his head back and groaned Grantaire knew he had hit his sweet spot. He put all his effort into hitting the spot, and grinned at the way Enjolras was falling apart behind him.

“A year and a half!” he shouted and Enjolras brought his hands up to Grantaire’s head and buried his long fingers in the dark curls. Grantaire moaned Enjolras’ name as an answer and carried on rolling his hips.

“Fuck… Enjolras.”

Their bodies were slick and moving together perfectly, graceful and fluid. Grantaire felt his last shred of self-control slip away as he tumbled towards his orgasm. Before he could reach it though he brought his hand down to grasp Enjolras’ cock.

Grantaire ate up the breathy gasps from Enjolras once his started tugging on his dick. Enjolras was very close and it only took a couple of strokes to push him over the edge and sent him spurted on streaks of come on to his chest.

One more deep thrust inside Enjolras and Grantaire was soon following him as he spent himself with Enjolras’ name on his lips.

As he came down from his high Grantaire collapsed on top of Enjolras, not caring about the mess between their bodies. Before he could drift off he pulled out and got rid of the condom.

After they were cleared up and back in bed Grantaire attached himself to Enjolras’ side, despite his scowl (which he knew was put on).

“So that was nice.” He said simply.

“Nice? That was amazing Grantaire.” His smile was small but on Enjolras’ face it might as well of been a grin. Grantaire blushed slightly and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“So do you want to be my boyfriend?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, but he stopped as soon as he saw Enjolras’ face fall.

“Of course I will Apollo, I love you and we just had mind blowing sex. You aren’t going anywhere.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank everyone for the support throughout this fic! It means alot seriously.   
> I'm thinking maybe I'll do some drabbles or a sequel afterwards? I mean it was very E/R heavy, so I want to do more with interactions with the other Amis. What do you think?


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